Wounded Soul
by justoneyesterday-xo
Summary: I'm not the good brother. I'm not the hero. I've lost something that can never be replaced, I am eternally a wounded soul, I am the fear in the darkness — because I am Damon Salvatore: a vicious, murderous monster, and I can't change who I am or what I do; not even for her.


It was well half passed midnight when **D**amon **S**alvatore finally returned to the boarding house.

He stood outside on the grand front lawn for a few minutes to gaze at the appointed, baronial structure of the place he now thought to be his home with lonely, filtered thought of nothingness under the limited glimmering moonlight, his crystal blue eyes raking over the brownstone that made up the rather large two-story building that was once rented out to citizens in the historical town of Mystic Falls until the Salvatore brothers returned after a long journey away, drinking in the cavernous exterior that frightened away many in their carbuncle rummages of fear from the threaded stories that spread over the last century since the Boarding House was built. To Damon, it was glamorous, not that he would ever admit this, from the beautifully inadequate interior that was collected since 1914, with it's Corinthians to exceed in the Romanesque accents that made up the perpendicular, modestly palatial house. Truthfully, he loved his rabbit warren of a home, and he knew that his little brother loved it just as much, but his sole reason being the _very_ girl that Damon spent months fawning over because she saw the truth in him, and did not shun him away like so many others. Damon hated the way he was thinking, how could he act so fond over the boarding house when he had to stake the one other person he'd called a friend and hand over her body to the Sheriff, as if it meant absolutely nothing to him? He should be brooding, wallowing in self-righteousness as the guilt ate away at him for doing something so selfishly. But it wasn't something he had control over, since his _friend _had been bitten by a werewolf, and to put her out of her agonizing misery to die peacefully, he'd brought her to a good place, and then staked her as a lonely tear shed down his cheek.

He felt, _flamboyant_. And _that_ was not okay.

Shaking himself loose, Damon ventured inside the boarding house; had the lights been on the entire time he was standing outside? He didn't notice. It was eerily quiet inside, which the vampire found oddly exasperating. He purged down into the living room, where a fire was immensely crackling under the gray stone mantle, flickering blue and green from the dry salted logs that had been dragged in from the woods that surrounded the boarding house. Nothing looked out of place, it seemed like no one had been there since Damon left earlier in the evening to hand off the desiccated vampire body to his good ol' human friend, **S**heriff **E**lizabeth **F**orbes, however many hours ago _that_ was. He usually lost track of time, what with his busy schedule and all, he hardly had time to make comfort in his home since he was always running around being the _hero_ alongside his baby brother. But, to his surprise, he found a petite, solemn and beautiful brunette waiting for him with her fingers clutched around a glass he was hoping to be his favorite scotch or bourbon whiskey. However, he recalled their earlier conversation and his thoughts soured upon seeing that she was there.

"You were supposed to leave." He shot bitterly.

"I did, but then I came back to make sure that you're okay." **E**lena **G**ilbert pretended she wasn't offended when Damon had not-so-graciously accepted the glass as she slowly handed it to him, an unknown flicker of emotion flashed in his glassy eyes, and for a moment, they glistened like the ice she'd always reflected and compared them to.

"I appreciate the gesture, I'm just glad it's over." He replied hastily, taking a sip from the glass. His throat burned, and it gave him a brief spasm of acceleration when the cool scotch slithered down his throat, he fought back the shiver it sent up his spine, keeping his eyes on the brunette that resembled the woman he'd loved one hundred and forty five years ago. He walled up those specific thoughts once more, as he'd done every other time he found himself thinking of the evil vindictive bitch that he'd locked up in the tomb under the remains of Fell's Church, where she was initially supposed to be; it pained him. Not that he would admit that aloud, as for many other things.

"You know I don't believe that." She gave him a look that he could not decipher right away, but he immediately shrugged it off with another sip of scotch.

"Go home, Elena." Damon commanded begrudgingly, "Get some rest. It's a whole new day tomorrow."

"Damon, I'm your friend." She reminded him in an unearthly friendly tone, her dark lips pursing together slightly as she looked him over. She was staring at him as if he was already half way drunk, when he'd had no more than two or three sips of the scotch she'd handed over to him, and the disgust of her glance only churned his stomach with the self-pity that tore at his heart.

"I'm well aware of that." His rude, snark tone caused a pained look to shine in Elena's soft, humble brown eyes. But he was in too much of a _mood_, to give a damn about her own righteous feelings, while he was stuck in the cataclysmic vortex of the emotional tornado that demolished every part of him, mentally and emotionally.

It took Elena a few moments before she could compose herself, letting out a barely audible but heavy sigh to emit passed her lips, "And a friend usually knows when their friend is hurting."

Discreetly, the elder Salvatore swallowed thickly, chasing down the lump in his throat with a vast gulp of the scotch, his cold gaze settling on her face once more as he prepared himself for the turn of the worst that would come out in the conversation with the Petrova doppelgänger. "What do you want to hear? That I cared about Rose? That I'm upset? Well I didn't, and I'm not." He spat vehemently, ferociously. He couldn't keep himself from being so heated, he wanted to stay away from talking about this, it would do him no justice, because it only brought up the fact that this all happened because of something _he _had done.

"There you go, pretending to turn it off, pretending not to feel." Elena spoke cautiously, like she was shuffling around the edges, trying not to rile something out of him — well it's a little late for that. He didn't want to play psychiatrist with the girl. He just wanted to drink away his sorrows of the evening. But she obviously would not let him have it. "Damon, you're so close. Don't give up," she continued in a softer voice, giving him an almost pleading look, swallowing thickly in nervousness.

Another swig of scotch was his immediate response before pursuing. "I _feel_, Elena. Okay? And it sucks!" He nearly exclaimed, the crackling in his tone was luckily drowned out by the way his voice was rising in anger, or was it the rush of emotions that were threatening to come pouring out at any shining moment of exposed weakness? "What sucks even more is that it was supposed to be _me_. Jules was coming after _me_."

Elena appeared shocked, but she quickly pushed that off, slowly taking a step toward Damon. "You feel guilty," she observed quietly.

"That would be _human _of me, wouldn't it, Elena?" He almost growled as he brought the glass to his lips once more, finishing off the chilled caramel liquid that bounced off his nerve endings in such a fiery haze that he knew he would not be able to control, his perfectly immaculate proverbial feathers that kept him isolated in the confines of the ruptured scrap that was his humanity, were intensely ruffled and there was nothing he could do about it. "And I'm _not human_," which was also his way of solely reminding her that his brother wasn't either, but that was a tale for another day, if the time was found, which i most likely would not. "You want to talk about giving up? That's all you've ever _done_ is give up!" Gone were the thoughts of hurting this girl's feelings, that was the _last _of his concerns in the duration of the night: he had much more to worry about. He knew he was destroying the fortress that was hope, but Damon's mind was elsewhere, more focused on getting away from Elena, and drowning himself in every bottle of alcohol he was able to consume that was lying around the extravagant home. "Go home. It's been enough _doom, gloom, and personal growth_ for one night."

"Okay, I will." Damon was surprised at how willing she was to get out. Instead of dwelling on it, he decided that Elena allowed his words to sink in, and was going to _finally _leave him alone for the night. He was too messed up to acknowledge that Elena had embraced him, muttering a small, "Goodnight Damon," before disappearing from the Salvatore boarding house.

Not long after Elena was gone, at least two bottles of bourbon soon found its way to being clutched in Damon's hand, the constant pouring of liquid sloshing into the glass was the only sound that filled the living room aside the dying flames in the fire place. However, it deemed as a reminder to just how _lonely_ he truly was, how empty he was currently feeling, but it didn't disentangle the decision he'd made to promptly kick Elena out of the house so he could be left unaccompanied. Damon longingly wished he was able to explain how he'd ended up lying in the middle of the road, gazing up at the near-clear onyx sky, his eyes following the ghostly movements of the clouds as they floated through by, undetected to the mere human eye. Could he blame it on the flask filled to the brim from a newly opened bottle of bourbon? Ever more so. The sound of tires crunching over the asphalt of the road caught his attention, but he didn't move — the car could run him over, for all he cared. It wasn't like he was capable of dying from that common occurrence. But, much to his distinction, his body is illuminated by headlights that temporarily blinded him, yet no stirring of his limbs detected he could even be alive, he could hear the shifting of gears as the car was put into park, a door swung open, and footsteps clashed against the gravel as someone hurried over to him.

"Sir, are you okay?" He grunted in response as his thoughts slowly began to flood back to a semi-decent state that allowed him to forget everything in which had happened for the time being, "What happened?" She had the voice of an angel, and in his state, Damon could conclude that she indeed _was _an angel that has come to take him away thanks to all his forgiven sins over the last one hundred-sixty some odd years that he's been alive.

"I'm ... lost." Damon slowly drawled out after a few heart beats.

"And you're laying in the middle of the road?" The woman was borderline bewildered, as she took in the sight of the man.

"Not that kind of lost." He drawled while sitting up, the joints in his muscles expanding in a timid pain from lying still for so long. "Metaphorically, existentially."

"Do you need help?" Her voice was cautious, and he could see that the woman was wary on actually being of assistance to the man she'd discovered was not injured in any way and was just lying there for some kind of amusement. Already, Damon knew she thought he was some kind of sick, twisted weirdo and her first instinct was to get the hell away.

"Well, yes I do." Damon pulled the flask from his pocket, brought it to his lips and took a swig, he'd almost forgotten that he'd brought it with him. Keyword, _almost_. "Can you help me?"

"You're drunk." It was more of a statement rather than a question, and it was utterly obvious that Damon had one too many drinks in the span of... Oh, lord, who knows how long it's been since his chat with Elena.

"No," He vigorously shook his head, then slowed in a fumble, "Well, yes. A little. Maybe." He watched as the woman started to back away toward her car, "No, please don't leave. I really do need help." He all but gasped out, his body lunging up from the ground and having standing in front of the woman in one swift fluid motion, a look of plea blurring in the depths of his blue eyes. '"Don't move," He commanded lowly in time with the dilation of his pupils, the woman helplessly stared back at him in a mix of fear and awe.

"I don't want any trouble." She uttered, her voice close to trembling from the confusion.

"Neither do I, but all I got is trouble." Damon replied, his eyes never leaving the woman's.

"Why can't I move? She idly inquired near softly to the dark haired male.

"What's your name?" Damon ignored, blinking his eyelids once slowly, but it was just his drunken brain reeling.

"Jessica." Her answer was quick and soft, the fear evident in her watery eyes.

He could see the glimmering of fresh tears that threatened to escape, and for a moment, in the reflection of her eyes, he saw himself crumbling in front of the poor woman named Jessica. "Hi Jessica." A sloppy smile played on his lips, "I have a secret, I have a big one and I never said it out loud. I mean, what's the point? It's not gonna change anything, it's not gonna make me good," He nearly spat, but then he swallowed thickly, letting the words tumble drunkenly from his lips, there would be no mention or memory of this night, he intended on making the very plausible. "made me an _adopt a puppy_. I can't _be_ what other people want me to be, what _she_ wants me to be." Damon's large hands grasped at Jessica's biceps. "This is who I_ am_, Jessica."

"Are you gonna hurt me?" Jessica quivered under Damon's words and touch, her eyes never leaving him.

His breath was hot against her skin, reeking of both his favorite scotch and bourbon, his eyes tamely taking in the sight of the frightened woman. "I'm not sure because you are my _existential crisis_. Do I kill you or do I not kill you?" The very thought made his head spin, do a complete 360. It was a deafening decision that could be prolonged for only an exempt amount of time.

"Please don't." Jessica softly cried to him.

"But I have to, Jessica because I'm not human and I miss it." His heart dropped the moment those words were said aloud, he could hear himself saying it, it rang loudly, the pounding blood clogging behind his ears, and in that same moment, he felt his spirits lift. "I miss it more than anything in the world! _That_ is my secret." Damon confessed in a spur, his hands temporarily ghosting at his chest before dropping in excessive hand movements, and then touching at his pectoral muscles once more. "but there is only so much hurt a man can take."

"Please, don't." The tears flowed down Jessica's face, but Damon wasn't sure if he was directly looking at this woman crying, or if it was the fact that tears of his own were strolling along his cheeks.

"Okay." he gave a quick nod, undoing his compulsion. "You're free to go."

Jessica gave a thorough, vigorous nod of her own before taking long strides to her car, her hands fumbling for her keys and simultaneously fidgeting with her coat as gray clouds formed around her mouth from the brisk spring temperature outside. Damon's body slowly turned, watching as she ran away with the secret he'd never admit to anyone, not even his own baby brother. Speaking of that Devil, he knew his brother would be very disappointed in him, Elena would be even more upset with him, but as she struggled to get herself into her car, something snapped inside of him; his movements were anything but a blur, grabbing at her shoulder, and spinning Jessica to face him. She screamed, but there was no one around to hear, Damon's fangs sprouted upon instinct before the rest of his visage could formulate on his flawless, devilishly handsome face, lurching forward and sinking them deep into her jugular, clutching her writing body against him, lavishing ravenously at her delicately sweet blood that went down like silk; low snarls and growls ripped passed his teeth as he gave in to his vampiric tendencies, listening to the difference in her heart beat as he drew away her last gasp of air. Slowly, his head lifted away to give himself a breath, Jessica's blood smeared across his jaw, dripping from his teeth and mouth onto his clothing, and Jessica's lifeless body; he had felt his face shift from his human mask to the monster he knew that he thrived for since his very first kill back in 1864, as a human and as a vampire. The veins pulsating against his orbitals were heavy with unsatisfied voracious hunger beneath his darkened eyes, his grunts, groans, and growls were near silenced as he pulled Jessica's neck back toward his mouth, his teeth piercing the soft flesh once more, ingesting the remaining blood inside of Jessica in thick amounts, desperate to lap at every last drop.


End file.
